LOGINMira pov
The belt pressed against my throat. Cool leather. A question that hung in the air between us, heavier than the city lights spilling through the windows. My pulse beat against the restraint. "Do I trust you?" My voice came out steadier than I expected. "I'm in your penthouse. My dress is around my hips. You have my panties in your pocket." His smile was slow, dangerous. "That's not an answer." "It's the closest you're going to get." He studied me. Those storm-gray eyes traced my face like he was reading something written just beneath my skin. Then he pulled the belt away, dropping it to the floor. "Good enough." His mouth found mine. Not gentle. Not asking. His tongue swept against my lower lip before I could exhale, and I opened for him, pulling him closer. The weight of his body pressed me into the sheets, the heat of his chest through his unbuttoned shirt. I wanted him naked. I pushed the fabric from his shoulders, and he shrugged it off, never breaking the kiss. My hands found his skin—warm, hard, the muscles of his back shifting under my palms. He groaned into my mouth when my nails raked down his spine. "Impatient," he murmured. "You've been doing all the work." I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his trousers. "My turn." His laugh was low, rough. "Is that so?" I flipped him. He let me. The surprise on his face lasted a fraction of a second before it shifted into something darker, more curious. I straddled his hips, the fabric of his trousers rough against my bare thighs. The dress bunched around my waist, forgotten. "Now who's on their knees?" I said. "You're on top." "Same difference." His hands found my hips, gripping hard. The heat in his eyes made my breath catch. "You have no idea what you're doing to me." "Show me." He sat up in one fluid motion, his chest against mine, his arms wrapping around my back. The new angle pressed him against me, and I felt the hard length of him through the wool of his trousers. My hips rocked forward without permission. His breath hissed through his teeth. "Careful." "Or what?" "Or this ends before it starts." I wanted to push him. Wanted to see how far his control stretched. But the hunger in his voice told me I was already dancing on the edge of something I couldn't walk back from. "Then don't let it end," I said. His hands slid down, gripping my ass, lifting me. He rolled, and I was on my back again, his body covering mine, his mouth at my throat. "You're going to kill me," he said against my skin. "That seems dramatic." "I don't do dramatic. I do precise." His teeth grazed my collarbone. "I do thorough. I do repeatedly." I gasped as he bit down, just hard enough to leave a mark. His hand slid between us, finding the button of his trousers. He didn't rush. The metal slipped free. The zipper lowered. He shifted, and I felt him against my thigh—bare, hot, ready. "Look at me," he said. I did. His eyes were nearly black. "If you want to stop, you tell me now. Not later. Now." I reached between us, wrapping my fingers around him. He was velvet and steel, and the sound he made when I squeezed—low, broken—sent a thrill through my chest. "I don't want to stop." He lowered himself, the head of him pressing against my entrance. I held my breath. He held my gaze. Then he pushed inside. The world narrowed to that single point of contact. The stretch. The fullness. The way he filled me inch by inch, never breaking eye contact, watching my face like my pleasure was a language he was learning syllable by syllable. "Fuck," he breathed. I couldn't speak. Couldn't think. There was only the sensation of him inside me, the weight of him above me, the way he held himself still—waiting, letting me adjust—even though the muscles in his arms trembled with restraint. "Move," I whispered. He did. Slow at first. Deep, deliberate strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned, dropping his forehead to mine. "Like that," he said, his voice wrecked. "Just like that." His pace quickened. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, the creak of the bed, my gasps and his grunts. He reached between us, his thumb finding my clit, pressing hard. I shattered. The orgasm hit me like a wave I hadn't seen coming, pulling me under, dragging me down. I heard myself cry out, felt my body clench around him, and he followed—his hips stuttering, his groan buried in my shoulder. We lay there, tangled, breathing hard. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then he lifted his head, his eyes finding mine. The storm was back. Calm. Satisfied. "That," he said, "was the second." I laughed, breathless. "You're keeping count?" He kissed me, slow and deep. When he pulled back, his thumb traced my lower lip. "I told you. I'm thorough." My body hummed. My mind was a blur of heat and static and the weight of him still half-inside me. "How many," I managed, "are you planning for?" His smile was dark, devastating. "All of them." His thumb still traced my lip, a slow, deliberate promise. I turned my head, catching the digit between my teeth. Not hard. Just enough to make his eyes narrow. "All of them," I repeated, the words muffled around his skin. "That's a lot of numbers." "I'm a patient man." He pulled his thumb free, dragging it wet across my bottom lip. "And I have a very long night planned." He shifted, pulling out of me with a slowness that made me shiver. The absence was its own kind of ache. Before I could mourn it, he was on his knees between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs and spreading them wide. The city lights painted his skin in gold and shadow. He looked at me—not my face, but there—with the focus of a man studying a map he intended to memorize. "What are you doing?" My voice was hoarse. "Checking something." His thumb pressed against my slick center, circling once. "Making sure you're ready." "I'm ready." "Noted." He leaned down, and his mouth replaced his thumb. Hot. Wet. The first stroke of his tongue made my back arch off the mattress. "But I want to taste it first." His hands held me open, and he worked with a methodical hunger that left me gasping. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, and he groaned against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine.I fold my arms across my chest, the wool of my sweater rough against my palms. The café hums around us, but I barely hear it. "I'm listening. But I don't want another half-truth."He holds my gaze. No flinching. No deflection. "I won't hide anything from you this time."I wait.He takes a breath, slow and deliberate. "My marriage to Camille has been unhappy for a long time. We stayed together because of family expectations. Appearances. Obligations neither of us wanted to confront.""Why didn't you tell me any of this when we were together?"His jaw tightens. "I was so focused on protecting my family and business that I convinced myself pushing you away was the best solution.""You made that decision for me." My voice comes out sharper than I intended. "Without giving me the chance to decide what risks I was willing to take."He doesn't argue. "You deserved the truth. And I failed you."I let the words settle. "And the pregnancy?""Camille admitted the baby isn't mine."The world tilt
I stare at the screen until the words blur.I'm coming to Paris.Three words. Eight syllables. A bomb disguised as a text message.I read it again. And again. My thumb swipes up to check the timestamp, as if that will change what he wrote. The message stays the same, stubborn and absolute, sitting there in the dim glow of my studio.My fingers move before I can stop them.Why?The reply comes within seconds.Because I don't want to have another important conversation through a phone.I push off the bed and start pacing. The floorboards creak beneath my feet. The city glitters beyond the window, indifferent to the earthquake happening inside my chest.Paris isn't a place you can simply come to because you suddenly feel guilty.I type it fast, sharp, hitting send before I can second-guess the edge in my words.His response is slower this time. Deliberate.I'm not coming to ask you to take me back. I need to face you properly. To show you that I meant what I said.I stare at the message.
The message glows on my screen.I won't ask you to come back. But I'm not giving up on fixing what I broke.I read it again. The words don't change. They sit there, stubborn and patient, like him.I don't reply.Words are easy. I've heard enough of them from Elias, from men who promised things they couldn't deliver. If he wants another chance, he needs to prove it. With actions. With time.I set the phone face-down on the nightstand and lie back, staring at the crack in the ceiling. The city hums beyond the window, indifferent. My mind refuses to settle.He's not giving up.The thought circles like a bird with no place to land.I roll onto my side, pull the blanket up to my chin, and close my eyes. Sleep comes in fragments, each one edged with his voice, his face, the way he said my name on the phone.---Morning filters through the thin curtains, pale and gray.I shower, dress, tie my apron. The motions are automatic coffee, bag, keys. The city greets me with diesel and damp cobblest
The message glows on my screen, three dots still pulsing as if he’s waiting for me to read it.Mira, there’s something else I need to tell you.I stare at the words until they blur. The studio is dark, the city humming beyond the window, and my hand trembles against the phone. Why does he keep finding his way back? I’ve spent weeks building a new life—culinary school, independence, the slow ache of learning to stand alone. And now he’s here again, cracking the door I thought I’d sealed.My thumbs move before I can stop them.What do you want to tell me?I press send. The silence stretches. The cursor blinks. One minute. Two.Then his reply appears, slow and careful.I’m not asking you to come back. Or forgive me. I just want to be honest with you this time. That’s all.Honesty. The word lands like a punch. I wanted honesty from him before—in the penthouse, in the hallway of his mother’s house, in every moment I stood in front of him waiting for an explanation he never gave. And now he
The Seine caught the last light, gold bleeding into gray. I stood at the window of my studio, a half-empty cup of coffee cold in my hands, and watched the city prepare for evening.His words wouldn't leave me alone.Camille's baby isn't mine. I can prove it. I need your help.I'd read them so many times the letters had lost their shape. Every time I thought I'd buried them, they surfaced again during a sauce reduction, while chopping herbs, in the breath between sleep and waking.Elias was married. I repeated it like a prayer. He's married. He chose her. He pushed me away.But the photograph sat in my mind. The clinic logo. The timeline that didn't match. And beneath it, the memory of his face in his mother's hallway, raw and broken, telling me he'd never wanted any of it."You're burning dinner."I looked up. Enzo stood in the kitchen doorway, a bottle of wine in one hand, his brows raised.I looked down. The mushrooms in the pan had gone dark, their edges crisping into something bey
The words hit me like a physical blow. "The baby isn't yours." I stood frozen, the penthouse dark around us, a single lamp casting long shadows across Camille's face. The words echoed in my skull, refusing to settle. "Repeat that." She didn't look up. Her hands twisted in her lap, pale and trembling. "The baby isn't yours, Elias." "No." The word came out sharp. "Say it again. I need to hear it clearly." Her jaw tightened. She lifted her chin, and for a moment, I saw the old Camille—the one who'd walked into the Obsidian Club with a strategy and a smile. But the mask cracked. Her eyes were wet. "The baby isn't yours." The room tilted. I gripped the back of the sofa, my knuckles white. A strange sound escaped my throat—something between a laugh and a gasp. "All this time." My voice was low, unrecognizable. "You let me believe we were building something. A family. A future. You stood in front of a room full of people and announced—" I stopped, the memory of the loft burning thro







